Dancing
by flootzavut
Summary: "Spike could never've imagined they'd get to this point." Tag to the Buffy and Spike scenes in Touched. Spuffy-ish. FFN has been playing up for me recently, if this works, I will be trying to catch up on the stories which I haven't been able to post here. There are a good number on AO3 which I'll transfer as I'm able, but AO3 is my main archive now. See my profile for details.


_**A/N:** I never planned to write this, then someone on Tumblr posted a gifset of the very first time Spike saw Buffy, and my muse's ears perked up and... oops._

 _There's a very oblique reference to the sexual assault in Seeing Red. It's very brief and very much only touches on it, but I'm just throwing the warning out there for anyone who needs it so no one gets blindsided by it._

* * *

 _ **Dancing**_

* * *

Spike could never've imagined they'd get to this point.

In his mind's eye, he can see her as she was, first night he ever laid eyes on her. Almost carefree - carefree for a Slayer, at least - speaking French, badly. Willow's encouragement not nearly enough to make up for weeks and months of disrupted school and disrupted homework and disrupted sleep.

Being willingly dragged to the dance floor, losing herself in the music and the moment. Dancing, loose and free and happy, laughing with her friends. Smiling.

Glowing.

He's spellbound by the image, etched into his memory with perfect clarity, though at the time it meant little to him; merely the fascination of the hunter for his prey.

She was enticing, but as a Slayer, as an enemy to defeat; as another trophy, as someone, no, some _thing_ , to devour. Now when he looks at her, he sees what he wants and cannot have, can never have. Never had, though he fooled himself for a while. Back when he didn't understand what it was to truly belong to someone, to have her belong to him. Before he did something he can't forgive himself for, something for which 'sorry' seems too small a word, even if somehow she seems to have forgiven him without ever being asked.

He never imagined, years ago, that one day he'd have her in his grasp like this and want to do nothing but hold her and watch her and love her. If he'd got his hands on her... he wanted to taste her sweet Slayer blood, to break her, destroy her. To take her to pieces and glory in the victory.

If he'd known back then, _that_ Spike... he would have tried harder. Would've succeeded. Or died trying. If he'd known the Slayer - the bloody Slayer, and isn't that just the kicker? - would unman him and leave him defenceless, would somehow crawl inside his dead heart and make herself at home there, he would've fought till he bled and died and dusted.

 _This_ Spike... he's glad, glad he didn't know. Grateful.

Grateful he didn't have the cunning or the strength or the whatever to finish the job. Maybe he knew more than he realised - maybe some part of him recognised killing her would be snuffing out a light he wanted to bathe in.

More likely, if he's going to be honest with himself, he was damn lucky and occasionally a bit... incompetent, probably, when it came to evildoing. He never had Dru's boundless depths of sadistic insanity, or Angelus' lust for destruction. Never did take it quite seriously enough, did he? Was always having far too much fun for any of that.

Either way, it worked out. In a manner of speaking. The dance wasn't supposed to lead them here, but given the choice between destroying Buffy and having her in his arms? Well, he already came too bloody close to doing the first, and was more horrified than he'd known he was capable of being, than any soulless monster should ever be.

How the second happened he reckons must be some miracle of destiny or some such codswallop, because God and the Devil know he didn't do a thing to deserve it. The knowledge of how much she's overcome simply to allow him to comfort her like this... he can't face the idea head on.

What he deserves from her is less than nothing, is a stake to the heart. She shouldn't give a damn if he lives or dies, never mind finds redemption. Yet what she offers is faith and vulnerability and trust. Belief in his ability to become something more, to change for the better.

Their dance was supposed to end in death, and maybe it still will - they have plenty left to face, and Spike may be a fool but he's no idiot. If he survives the friendly fire long enough to face the enemy, he'll be doing well. But somehow it's also led him here, to a time and place where he can hold her in his arms and look into her eyes, then draw her close as she sleeps. As she rests safe and secure because she trusts him implicitly. And that... that is nothing he could ever have imagined, never mind hoped for.

He can't remember the last time he was this close to someone. Not physically close, nothing so simple, but open and vulnerable; defenceless. Terrified and thrilled, without the foggiest clue what it all might mean even to himself. Never mind what it might mean to her.

He's not sure he's ever felt this closeness. In a century of life and undeath, who has he ever held for the simple joy of it, to offer comfort and strength to a friend? Had he ever even had friends worth the name before her?

Not Darla, not Angelus. Dru? No, even Drusilla never showed him an ounce of real love or loyalty. He was useful and he was fun, and she was fond of him, as much as she was capable of being - and he loved her as best he could, twisted and broken as she was, as they were. But she proved time and again she'd turn away from him without hesitation or guilt if the mood struck her.

Buffy... Buffy could've turned away. Maybe should have turned away. Let him drown in his remorse. He doesn't think even he would've blamed her, not deep down where it matters. Then he went and got himself caught and strung up and bled like a stuck pig, and she should definitely have given him up as a bad job then, as not worth the risk, and she still didn't. Appeared like salvation with a knife in her hand and a scar on her cheek to lead him to freedom instead.

He remembers, remembers her young and ripe and fresh as a just-picked peach, but he thinks she's more beautiful to him now than he's ever seen her. Beauty in love and compassion and forgiveness for the worst of him. She's a hell of a woman.

He strokes his fingers over her hair, and she mumbles something incoherent and pulls him closer without waking, nuzzles in against his chest. She's tired, beaten down, worn out. Full of care and with no one looking out for her right now. No one looking after her. No one except him.

It shouldn't be him. She shouldn't _have_ to rely on him. But he's going to bloody well make sure she can. And if he can play any part in giving her back a life where she'll get to have joy and laughter, he'll give his all to make it happen.

"I love you, Buffy." He murmurs it against her hair.

He'd sacrifice almost anything to see her dance again.

 _~ fin ~_


End file.
